Than I to Hercules: within a month: Ere yet the salt of most unrighteous tears Had left the flushing in her galled eyes, She married. O, most wicked speed, to post With such dexterity to incestuous sheets! It is not nor it cannot come to good: But break, my heart; for I must hold my tongue.

I am glad to see you well: Horatio⁠—or I do forget myself.

Sir, my good friend; I’ll change that name with you: And what make you from Wittenberg, Horatio? Marcellus?

I am very glad to see you. Good even, sir. But what, in faith, make you from Wittenberg?

I would not hear your enemy say so, Nor shall you do mine ear that violence, To make it truster of your own report Against yourself: I know you are no truant. But what is your affair in Elsinore? We’ll teach you to drink deep ere you depart.